CHAPTER XI.

HOME WORK.

"The trivial round, the common task, Will furnish all we ought to ask— Room to deny ourselves, a road To bring us daily nearer God."

THREE years had passed since Lewis Warner had left the Grove, and as yet, no news had been received of him.

When one morning in autumn, Austin, now a fine-looking young man of eighteen years, stood in his sister's boudoir.

"Prissy," he said, "I want to know if you have forgotten your mathematics and entirely given up your study of astronomy?"

His sister looked up with a smile. "Forgotten them?" she said. "Certainly not. I always intended to tell you, Austin, that shortly after Lewis left us, I had a long talk with Mr. M'Ivor on the subject of whether, knowing my father's prejudices on the matter, I should relinquish altogether my study of those subjects. He asked time to consider ere he would advise me. You know he is a 'canny Scot.' Well, next day he came and said he had thought over it, and he believed it was not my duty to give up studies for which I had a God-given talent (I should tell you he had examined me in both mathematics and astronomy), and for which he believed I would one day find a use. So, Austin, ever since then, with occasional help from André M'Ivor, I have gone on steadily with my studies, rising an hour earlier in the morning to find time for them, so that I might never again be tempted to neglect other duties."

"I have tried, Austin, to make home different for you and the younger boys, and so help on the kingdom of God. Would that I had done it always; then perhaps Lewis would never have left his home, and my father would not have been the heart-broken man he now is."

Austin put his arm kindly round his sister's shoulder. "Indeed, Prissy," he said; "you have succeeded in making our home life very different from what it was. Archie and Claude will have no excuse to spend their evenings in bad companionship. Your playing and singing, our various readings and pleasant games, render our evenings at home, as the M'Ivor boys say, 'regular jolly ones;' and I own I am glad you have resumed your studies, for the fault lay not in your devoting time to mental improvement, but in your doing so in a wrong way and from a wrong motive."

"But my reason for asking specially about it is this: you know that to-morrow I set off for Cambridge, and if you can spare an hour three times a week, I am going to ask you to carry on a work I have been doing for a week past. You know Joe Anthony, the carpenter's son, who is confined to his couch? Well, the lad has a great love for study, and at his urgent request, I have been teaching him mathematics; and if you, dear Prissy, would continue to do so, he would be so thankful."

Prissy's eyes glistened as she replied: "Oh, I will do so gladly. I can now easily give the needed time; and I am so thankful that an opening has been given to me to use my talent to help a fellow-creature, and not merely to gratify my own ambition."

"That's all right then, Pris," said her brother. "I'll tell Joe to-day, and show you afterwards how far he has advanced in the study of mathematics. But there is my father calling for me. I must be off now; and I want to run down to the M'Ivors to say good-bye." And so saying, he ran off.

Priscilla then went to her book-case, and with a heart full of joy, took down some of her loved books, and began to glance over the earlier lessons in Euclid. She had just seated herself for a quiet hour of study, when some one knocked at the door, and Archie and Claude bounded in.

"O Prissy, this is jolly! Dr. Sparling has given us a holiday, at the request of Major Wright, who has just returned from India, and who was head-scholar at the school before he went away. Isn't it first-rate, Prissy? And it being Austin's last day at home too makes it all the better. We want to go some good expedition; and the M'Ivors are to join us. And you'll come also, won't you? And, Prissy, do get us some sandwiches and biscuits, for we will be away nearly the whole day. Hurrah! Hurrah! Three cheers for Major Wright!"

Adieu now to Prissy's quiet hour. But if she was disappointed, no trace of so being was allowed to be seen by the boys; but with a good-humoured, "Well, well, if holidays are the fashion, I'll take one too," she put back her book on the shelf, and set off to see to the filling of a basket with eatables for the hungry boys—returning, ere she went downstairs, into the nursery for one minute, to comfort herself with a kiss of little four-year-old Ruth, the pet and plaything of the whole household.

The next morning, a large party of friends met at the railway station to bid adieu to Austin Warner, as he set off for his first term at Cambridge University. He went followed by the good wishes of all who knew him. He left Hereford as the head-pupil of its principal school. His abilities, said Dr. Sparling, were of a high kind, specially as regarded mathematics. Dr. Warner, truth to say, had been greatly surprised at the development of Austin's talents, for, in his undue love to Lewis, he had failed formerly in doing him justice; and it rejoiced Prissy's heart to see that now, in spite of himself, he was beginning to mark with interest and take pride in his son's scholarly attainments.

Father and daughter walked slowly home together, Dr. Warner's thoughts turning to the son so dear to his heart, of whom he had heard nothing for three long years. Where was he now, and what sort of life was he leading?

He startled Prissy by the sudden question, "Priscilla, have you observed how like Archie gets to poor Lewis? There are times when the likeness almost pains me. And—" he paused a moment—"he resembles him in character likewise. He is easily led by companions; Dr. Sparling told me so to-day. MY daughter, we must see to it that he is not compelled by the dulness of his home to seek bad society."

Prissy coloured. It was the first allusion her father had made for years to the part she had had in helping Lewis in his downward course, the first time he had mentioned that son's name for long months.

"O father," she said, "I do not think you need fear for Archie in that way. He dearly loves his home, and our quiet, happy evenings. But I do fear he will miss Austin's company, and the assistance he has given him in his studies."

"Ah, there it is again!" said the professor. "My time is so occupied just now, what with writing and correcting proofs of my new book, that I fear I shall not be able to give Archie the help he requires, specially in his mathematical studies. Besides, my eyesight is not so good as it used to be. Surely my spectacles are not strong enough. There are times when I can hardly see to read at all."

Prissy looked up alarmed. "Why," she said, "did you never tell me that before? Ought you not to consult an oculist about it? Perhaps you should rest your eyes a while. Father, can I not help you? Surely, at least, I can assist Archie. Say I may; do say so. Let me at least read to you."

Her father patted the girl kindly, saying. "Nay, nay, Priscilla; I did not mean to alarm you. I daresay my eyes are just wearied; and I am getting old, you know. And, my daughter, as to your reading to me, I fear treatises on mathematics and astronomy would soon weary you. They are rather uninteresting subjects to those who comprehend them not."

Prissy bit her lips. This was not the time, she felt, to tell her father how much she understood of both sciences. It was a temptation to do so, but the discipline of the past years had worked its end. She could now in patience possess her soul. The kingdom of God, the spirit of meekness, long-suffering, and love, was growing in her heart. The great lesson, which all God's children have sooner or later to learn, "to be still and wait," was being learned by her.

So now she only said, "Well, father, when you think I can help you, do ask me; and, in the meantime, promise me not to overtask your eyesight."

"Poor Priscilla!" said her father. "I believe you would help me if you could; and in one way you do, my daughter—you do. Now that Miss Vernon has left us, I could have little comfort in studying, if I did not know that you were keeping all straight in the house. No want of love towards you now, Priscilla, on the part of the little ones."

He said this with a smile, as Claude and Ruth came bounding up to their sister.

Prissy's heart was too full for speech; any words of commendation from her father were precious to her.

They walked home almost in silence after that.

Then nurse having come to take the children off for a walk, and Dr. Warner having gone indoors, Priscilla set off to a neighbouring village to visit some poor people, amongst whom, by her kind words and actions, she was helping on the kingdom of God. In more than one family she had acted as a peacemaker; and there were little children there into whose young hearts she had dropped a seed of heavenly love, which already had proved to be the beginning of that kingdom of God which is within us.

Into one house she entered—a small, poor cottage, but spotlessly clean. A widow woman, with a baby in her arms, stooped over a bed where lay a little boy of some five years. She raised her head as the step drew nearer, and a look of pleasure and relief shone in her eyes as she recognized the visitor.

"O Miss Warner," she exclaimed, "I be so glad to see ye! Charlie's worse, the doctor says. He's as bad as can be. And oh, but, miss, my heart's broke! My pretty lamb! I can't part from him, the darling!"

"I am so sorry, Mrs. Watts," said Prissy. "Has Charlie been long ill? Why did you not tell me sooner?"

"Well, you see, miss, I'd none to send. And when he was first took ill, he called for you—he did. But now I scarce think he'll know you."

Priscilla bent over the dying child and spoke some words to him; but the little fellow's face was turned away, the bright eyes closed in unconsciousness. It was the mother, not the child, she had to comfort that day.

She knew, although their eyes were too dim to see them, angels were round the little sufferer, helping him and ministering to him; and, better than all, the loving arms of Jesus were extended to receive the soul of the little one to himself.

Ere the child's spirit passed to glory, whilst he lay pillowed in his mother's arms (for Prissy had taken the baby from her), he opened his eyes, and with a sweet smile said, "Mother—lady (the name by which he always addressed Prissy)—Jesus."

Then, folding his little hands in prayer, he said, "Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come." He could add no more.

The mother's eyes met those of Priscilla, and in a moment, both knew the little one was already in that kingdom to which Jesus hath said the children who have come to him belong.

It was Priscilla who finished the next clause of the prayer—"Thy will be done."

"Little Charlie is with Jesus now," she whispered.

And the mother dried her eyes as she said, "And it was your hand led him to Him, miss—your voice that taught him to sing the hymns he is singing to-day in the kingdom of God."

If that were indeed so, had not Priscilla Warner done a work far exceeding that which would have gained her any earthly fame—a work which, as Harry Lascelles had said, angels might envy her the doing of?